Pitchiner's Nightmares
by loopehgoesrawr
Summary: After becoming the King of Nightmares a small part of Kozmotic Pitchiner was left inside the mind of the newly created Pitch Black. Pitchiner is now plagued by horrible visions and nightmares, mainly of his daughter Seraphina.


Kozmotis Pitchiner peered out of glowing golden eyes, but they were no longer his eyes. They, along with the rest of his body, now belonged to an immeasurable amount of fearlings and nightmare men. The evil spirits had tricked him long ago and they had used the opportunity to enter his body. It served them well as a vessel through which they could easily and efficiently spread their fear across the globe. They had turned him into a monster, they had turned him into the boogieman, and he hated every minute of it. The once great war general had now been beaten down by countless centuries of young terrified faces staring up at him as the evil creatures within his body tortured their once pleasant dreams with nightmares. As much as it pained him to watch, he had no choice but to look on helplessly as one child after another fell victim to their horrible deeds.

Yet, as haunted as he was by the near constant screams and horrified looks, these were the least of his torments. The fearlings and nightmare men knew he was strong. They knew that if given the chance he would do anything in his power to defeat them once again. So, to prevent that from happening they kept him as weak as possible, and they did so using fear and pain. The creatures within him were designed to know a person's worst fears at just the first glance and, after having been with Pitchiner for so long, they knew his better than anyone could ever imagine, even better than he knew them himself. They used the same trick, the same fear, that had turned him into the King of Nightmares in the first place. They used his love for his own daughter against him, twisted it until he would like nothing more than to surrender, to let go and allow the raging spirits within him to swallow him whole. But he never did. Instead he clung to the impossible hope that, one day, he might manage to break free and end his torment. Today was not that day, for his harsh golden eyes looked up into none other than the tear streaked face of Seraphina, his daughter.

Pitchiner stared at her, pain filling his chest as he remember all that he had lost the day he opened that prison door. He tried to push away the thoughts, silently telling himself over and over "She's not real, she's just a vision. She's just another nightmare created by the fearlings." The girl shrieked between sobs, "No I'm not daddy! Don't you remember me? Why did you leave me? I'm all alone and I'm afraid." She was so realistic, just like the little girl Pitchnier had loved so much. She was a young girl of about ten with long silky black hair and a small frame. She cradled a tiny yellow butterfly in her hands. The sight of it brought back warm memories of happy times. He remembered her fondness of the little winged bugs and how together they would try to catch them in their free time. He wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and comfort her, telling her that everything was going to be alright. It took all his might not to do so, but he did not want to indulge in the fearlings' malevolent game. "Daddy please," the girl whimpered. She stepped forward and clutched at his robe with small delicate fingers. The butterfly fluttered up out of her hands and landed gently on her shoulder as she continued to tug lightly at his clothes. "I just want you back," she said, trailing off. Pitchnier's resolve melted at the touch of his daughter's hands, even if she was just another vision, just another nightmare, he missed her, and the feeling of human contact, far too much to ignore her.

He wrapped his arms around the vision of Seraphina and enveloped her in a fatherly embrace. Her body was surprisingly solid. Yet, what stuck him most was how cold she was, deathly cold, and inhumanly stiff. The sensation brought him back to reality. She wasn't real, she was merely an illusion devised to torment him for all of eternity.

The girl looked up at him, her eyes, which had been sad and loving just moments before, now bore the cruelty of an evil older than time itself. She a wicked smile spread across her face as her shape began to morph and shift beneath his arms. Her body slowly disintegrated into a mass of dark, inky dream sand. Tendrils of it snaked around him in circles, slowly closing in upon him. Pitchier could hear malicious laughter all around him, shifting in tone from the voice of Seraphina to the howling of fearlings and nightmare men. The cloud of black dream sand finally surrounded him and the laughter stopped. There was no noise, no light, nothing that any of his five senses could pick up on; there was only darkness.

Pitchiner curled up into a ball, trying to shield himself from the piercing cold of the dream sand. As always, it didn't work. Every inch of his body felt as if it was being stabbed by tiny frozen needles. Yet, despite the pain, he sighed with relief, relief that the worst of his daily torment was finally over and that the fearlings would no longer use his daughter's face to create such horrors. For now he was safe, or as safe as he could be in such a dangerous place. But he knew that this lapse in suffering would be short lived, for as soon as the fearlings sensed his strength returning they would send the ghostly image of his daughter back to haunt him.


End file.
